Ismene
by Kathryn Angelle
Summary: In the play Antigone, by Sophocles (retold by Jean Anouilh), Antigone's sister Ismene disappears halfway through. This short story is about her, and is based equally on both versions. If you haven't read the play(s), you can read my summary.


In the play Antigone (both the original Sophocles and the Jean Anouilh 1940s re-telling), Ismene, Antigone's sister, disappears midway. I wondered what happened to her. To find out what happens in the play, read my Antigone Summary.   
  
Ismene  
  
She stumbled, her bloody, dirty feet catching the rough edges of the loose stones. She fell, putting out her hands to catch herself. Her hands. She hated looking at them now. The slender white fingers were scraped and raw, no longer delicate and soft. Black dirt was lodged under her nails, now ragged and broken.   
She picked herself up out of the mud and went on.   
  
She was a pitiable sight. Her sandals were long gone, and her feet were torn, the soft soles uncalloused, dangerously sensitive to the harsh ground. Her legs and arms were marked deeply with red lines from the thorns. Her hair, no longer soft golden curls, was tangled, darkened by dirt. Her once lovely face now looked haunted, the cheekbones too prominent, the eyes lost. The fine linen of her tunic was torn, the hem shredded, and its original color was indistinguishable through the mud spots, beneath which the material was faded to gray.   
  
She fell once again, and lay there, too weary to get up.   
  
Antigone. On Antigone, if only I could be with you now. But you wouldn't not have me, not when you thought I'd betrayed you. But Antigone, I'm alone now. I understand, why, why when you came home, all those years after the terrible day you left with father. You were so changed. You didn't let the servants wait on you, or do up your hair into curls, even for parties. I though you mad. Didn't you want to catch a fine husband? And then you did.   
You got Haemon, whom everyone wanted. The bets were all on me, you know, and then- I was angry, you know. I was furious over you stealing my catch; I resented you more than I did when father took you with him and not me. I no longer envy you those days, dear sister, how could I, in a million years? But you were his special one, you know. And I even forgave you for Haemon- though we, all the girls and I, called him the one that got away. But how could we resist the romance? I forgave you the catch, but I envied you your romance. No one ever wanted me for anything so pure as love, so Nurse always said, and I supposed she knew.   
  
But you, Antigone- you remember, don't you, how he was there when you came home, all alone and so frail and slight, like a bird, like a fragile little bird you can't hold onto too tightly. And he knew, knew he wouldn't be able to hold you. But you were so strong, too, Antigone. Aren't birds strong? So strong they can fly. You flew, didn't you, Antigone? You flew away, where they could never hurt you again.  
  
Ismene stirred, weakly shoving against the ground to lift herself out of the dirt. The sharp rocks scraped her hands and knees as she forced herself to her feet, struggling up. Her ribs throbbed sharply in protests, bruised from the fall. Carefully she set one foot before the other, moving steadily forward, going to nowhere, anywhere.   
  
I remember, Antigone, after you came back. You didn't dress up with me anymore. You didn't laugh like you used to. And you never ever cried, not once, not when Nurse scolded you so for going out at night. Not even that terrible day the soldier came, to tell us we were the only ones left, because our brothers were dead. And you went so still, Antigone, and pale. One soldier joked about the curse, remember? You jumped on him like a hellcat, you drew blood with your nails. I though you might kill him, before you suddenly went still again, so terribly still, and then you ran. You ran to your room and locked the door; for three whole days you did not eat, Antigone, not anything. And you never ever cried.   
  
The girls all said you were crazy. They laughed- oh, they laughed Antigone, and I laughed too. Forgive me. Forgive me, Antigone! I was afraid, afraid they would laugh at me. I have always been afraid, Antigone.   
  
I have always been afraid.   
  
When I was younger, when we were little and you still smiled I was afraid of the dark. Afraid of the night. You weren't afraid- you told me to hush and go back to sleep. When I was older, after father took you away with him, I was afraid of people. Of the way they looked, the things they said. Cursed, cursed, cursed, I heard them say, cursed, and I finally realized what that word meant.   
  
It means alone, Antigone, all alone, as you were alone.   
  
As I am alone now.   
  
Ismene shivered. The light around her was fading. The cold night was surrounding her. She could no longer see- she stumbled once more, landing roughly against the harsh bark of a tree. She slid down against the bark, curling up at its base.   
  
Oh Antigone. I'm alone in the dark again. I hate the dark. I hate it, because it makes me afraid. I hate to be afraid.   
  
I was afraid of Creon, terrified. He was so angry, like a demon. I think he must be mad, Antigone. I tried to be strong. I tried, but you didn't want me, you hated me- I saw it in you face, and you turned away from me.   
  
Then I was alone.   
  
When they let me go, I ran. I ran, ran out of the palace, ran away, ran and ran until I fell the first time. then I got up again and ran. I don't know where I'm going. I don't know where I am.   
  
Oh Antigone, it's dark and I'm alone, and you're not here. I'm alone, alone, and I'll die alone and there will be none to bury me, none, and I will never see you again, Antigone. I will be alone forever.   
  
Antigone. 


End file.
